Yours Truly, Roderich
by Snowsgirl
Summary: Reflections on an old friend.


I've never been more at a loss for words. It's odd, but I've never actually been in a "creative slump" before. It just never happens. I can sit at my piano for days and days and I'm still satisfied. Sometimes I skip meals simply because I'm so wrapped up in playing that I forget to eat.

But for the first time in a countless number of years, I had sat down at my bench, spread my fingers over the ivory, perfectly poised to play, and I couldn't find any music. Perhaps I just had too much on my mind, or maybe I hadn't been sleeping well, although I'm sure neither of those are the case.

The problem is, I actually do know what is causing me to be so stifled. Though in this case, that would be a who, not a what.

Gilbert.

Possibly the most obnoxious, ignorant man I have ever met. Never in my life has anyone been able to get so deeply under my skin. No matter how hard I try, I just can't understand him. Not that I want to, really, but who wouldn't be curious as to what goes on in the head of your worst enemy. My worst enemy, yet somehow, my best friend.

How ironic is that? Please, don't be fooled, I loathe him with every bone in my body, but I could never live without him. If he had disappeared those years ago when Prussia was dissolved, I would have been devastated. For some time after that, he was with Ivan, along with Elizaveta and a few others.

During that time, it was absolutely silent for me. I hate to admit it, but I think I may actually _need_Gilbert's distraction to keep being productive. For more than forty years, I couldn't play. Not to be misleading, I most certainly could play, but the music wasn't reaching me. I felt more alone than ever.

It's almost funny. I said I can't understand him, but I feel like I understand him more than anyone else. We both know what it is to be truly alone. There is nothing that ever hurt me more than to wake up, ready for another day, and then realize that Gilbert was gone, and likely never coming back. I can't imagine how he must have felt, but I know what it's like to miss someone so much, you feel as though there's a hole where your heart should be.

It really was a shock to me when Gilbert finally came home. I couldn't believe it. I was so relieved and excited to see him that I celebrated with a drink. My country has some fine breweries, it's true, but I strongly prefer coffee to alcohol, and certainly to beer, of all things. I felt, however, the event deserved to be treated to another rare occasion. When he showed up in my home after he came back, I nearly had a heart attack, and after he left, I was still in disbelief. That day, I got my music back, as well, because I had my muse again.

The worst part, and perhaps it's painfully obvious from what I have already written, but I've come to realize that I am absolutely in love with him. No one has ever made me feel the way he can.

He can set me off so easily. He knows my every weakness. (I should say "almost every weakness." He still doesn't know about my mole, and I'd like to keep it that way.) He knows exactly how to toy with my emotions. It's incredible.

I have never felt such a thrill as when we fight. Today, verbally, and what seems like an eternity ago, physically. He doesn't let on, but I think he's secretly a genius. He certainly isn't stupid. If he weren't quite so lazy, I think he may not come off as quite so ignorant. It has become increasingly apparent, to a point almost painful, that he is an absolutely brilliant strategist. I'm not sure whether he places it on knowledge or if it's pure skill, but once he has a plan, and he's set his heart on it, he will go after it. Most of the time, he will succeed, as well.

Gilbert is very unique. Aside from his interesting appearance (and if not interesting, decidedly different), he has a way of seeing things that nobody else sees. He sees a different perspective. It's hard at first, but if you get to know him, and you listen hard enough, you can get a glimpse into his beautiful imagination.

Truly, he weaves a melody all his own.


End file.
